


Forever

by koalathebear



Category: Homeland
Genre: Afterlife, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 01:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10651989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: My fix-it fic to give Quinn the happy ending I think he deserved.  I suppose it speaks volumes that it's not with Carrie ... Set after6.12 America First.Spoilers.Also - feeling crap after season 6?  Never, ever under-estimate thetherapeutic power of fan fiction.





	Forever

_Quinn never did anything he didn't want to. That's the truth. He was a complete pain in the ass that way. Stubborn as a mule. But beautiful, too._  
\- Astrid, 5.10 New Normal

Quinn opened the door, a slightly perplexed expression on his face. This was … strange.

The room was small and intimate, lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling that were stuffed with well-thumbed volumes. The light of the room warm and cosy. A blonde woman sat alone on the sofa, a cup of coffee in front of her. She glanced up as the door opened and there was a smile on her face.

"Peter," she greeted him warmly. 

Astrid. But this wasn't Astrid as she had last seen her … cold with the pallor of death, blood drying on her body. This was an Astrid with her hair loose and tumbled about her shoulders, younger … somehow more carefree. He'd never seen her like this – a woman before time and the demands of the job had carved lines across her face, giving her a grim, almost severe visage. This woman had a soft smile on her lips and a lightness to her deep eyes.

"Come in and close the door, I've been waiting for you," she told him.

"Waiting for me?" he questioned slightly stupidly, taking a step forward and closing the door behind him. He looked down. The bloodstains were gone – as were the fatal injuries. Instead, he was wearing faded jeans, steel-capped boots and a navy blue-shirt. He wondered if in the final moments before death he was hallucinating – but he remembered the end of his life very clearly. The police cordon, the spatter of gunfire and the pain of bullets slamming into his body.

"Yes," she told him, gesturing for him to sit down. He watched numbly as she picked up the second cup on the coffee table and set it in front of him, pouring him a cup of the piping hot coffee. He could smell the deep fragrance from his cup and he stared at her wonderingly before reaching out a hand that he noticed no longer shook. He took a deep swallow. Astrid took a sip of coffee from her own cup, watching him gravely.

"Did I save the president elect?" he asked her abruptly and her brows shot up in surprise.

"Yes. Yes you did – and Carrie, too in case you were wondering."

"Right." He took another swallow and put his cup down on the table. He looked around curiously. "Where are we?"

Astrid shrugged. "Call it a transit lounge of sorts," she told him, a faint smile on her lips.

"I'm dead."

"Yes."

"And so are you."

She nodded silently.

"And it was my fault." It wasn't a question. 

The smile faded from Astrid's eyes. She shook her head. "No, Peter. It wasn't your fault. You can't blame yourself."

His voice was harsh. "I should have trusted you. I took the bullets out of your gun. All my fucking fault … "

"And I should have known better than to try to take on a sniper rifle with a handgun … and I certainly should have also realised that the balance was off and that there were no bullets," she reminded him gently. 

"I fucked up," he told her in a low, shaking voice. Although the memories were cloudy and he felt as though he was punching through a fog, he remembered the pain and agony of her death, the grief and guilt that had ripped through him. For some reason, the edge was gone and the immediacy of that sorrow had dimmed but he could still remember it … barely.

"Not your fault," she repeated. "In any case, all of that is behind us now."

He gave a crooked smile. "Transit lounge?" he questioned her. "A final farewell before I head down into the fucking seven circles of hell?"

Astrid laughed, sounding genuinely amused. "Oh Peter, that's so Dante of you. You're not going to hell."

Now he was laughing. If anyone deserved a spot in hell, it was him. There was so much blood on his hands, so much sin staining his soul.

Astrid shook her head and reached out and took his hand in hers. "I promise you, we are not going to hell."

He frowned. "We?"

"I told you, I've been waiting for you. I didn't want to leave without you."

"Did you know I was going to die?"

She shrugged. "I knew you'd die eventually – we all do. I didn't know when but I knew it would happen."

She took a final swallow of her coffee cup and rose to her feet. "Of course – you could stay here and wait for Carrie if you choose. I would understand if you wanted to do that …" Her voice was low and calm.

"There was a time I thought she was my only way out … the only person who could ever love me for what I am."

"Like I said, you've always been an idiot," Astrid told him with a smile in her eyes, eyes that widened when he rose to his feet. 

"Not going to be an idiot any longer," he told her, a crooked smile curving his mouth and an expression in his eyes that she never thought that she would ever see.

"Well then," she replied, startled despite herself.

"You said you were waiting for me but you didn't know how long it would be before I died. How long would you have waited?" he asked her suddenly.

A faint colour touched her cheeks and she turned from him and started walking towards the opposite door.

"I think you already know the answer to that," she told him coolly and reached out her hand. Hands clasped like children they left the room together into the unknown.


End file.
